


the devil likes to make my heart a double bed

by peculiar_mademoiselle



Series: dead to all pleasure [1]
Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020), Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-22 09:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiar_mademoiselle/pseuds/peculiar_mademoiselle
Summary: AU, where Jonathan doesn't fall from the roof.
Relationships: Count Dracula/Jonathan Harker, Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Series: dead to all pleasure [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604788
Comments: 25
Kudos: 551





	the devil likes to make my heart a double bed

“You could be my finest bride.”

 _Bride._ A few short hours ago that would have been a happy word. A word that conjured images of Mina, beautiful Mina, clad in flowing white. Even if now, the Mina of his mind’s eye has a veil obscuring her face, as he can no longer visualise her features. Remember her smell. Recall her warmth. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel warm again.

At this moment the word bride makes him think of the poor dead girl somewhere below them, her last moments spent twitching on the dirty floor, her eyes still wild with hunger. He won’t be, can’t be, her.

Dracula is still talking, his tone less mocking than before. Still powerful, but as close to pleading as he would ever come. 

“Johnny, you’re like me.”

The words are said like a compliment, and Jonathan is incensed. 

“I am not like you.”

But even as he says it, he knows it’s not quite true. Dracula knows as much too, and his lips curve into a satisfied smile. 

Suddenly, Jonathan is exhausted, his adrenaline spent dragging himself into a standing position. He feels his eyes flicker before he falls, passing out once more on the warm stone. His crucifix bounces from his neck, reflecting the sun back to the reddening sky, useless. 

When he wakes he’s lying somewhere soft. For a moment he can pretend it was all a nightmare, the castle, the Count, the baby and the blood. He can lie here in hope, waiting for the horrifying dream to disperse like smoke, and allow him to open his eyes to home. 

Yet, the sheets are too heavy, the wind too loud, the light too low. And he isn’t breathing, not really, not properly. 

Opening his eyes takes so much effort, and he feels oddly numb as he takes in the scene before him.

He’s in his room, his original room. Tucked up in bed as though recovering from a fever. And sat at his bedside is Dracula, flicking through a book with one hand and nursing a glass of...something that certainly isn’t wine in the other.

“Ah! You’re up!” he exclaims, with what is very nearly delight, grinning in a way that shows his teeth. 

Jonathan isn’t sure what to say. Part of him wants to lean forward and claw at the Count’s face, to cry and scream and scratch until Dracula forced the table leg through his chest to shut him up. Another part wants to slip beneath the thick covers and disappear. As both urges war inside him, he can do nothing but sit in silence, his forget-me-not eyes boring into Dracula’s black pits. 

Leaning forward, Dracula runs a single finger over his sandpaper-like cheek, the sharpness of his nail just barely leaving an indent. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he breathes, so gently that Jonathan can feel the words on his face. He steels himself. 

“No. Just, unsure as to what I can say,” he breathes back. The words are true, and he hates that they feel like a white flag. 

Dracula huffs at that, in amusement, and leans in further. 

“Is that so? You had plenty to say earlier.”

His voice is teasing, laughter held just below it. The realisation that Dracula is having fun with him causes some feeling to return. 

“Alright then,” he starts, prim and proper, not breaking eye contact, “I despise you. You’ve destroyed me, destroyed my life. I wish you would die. I’d kill you myself, if I could.”

Dracula does bark a laugh at that, and continues to smirk, painfully fond. 

“There you are. You really are a marvel, you know. That wit! Strong enough to survive the grave,” he pulls a face, “the metaphorical grave, anyway.”

“What do you want with me?” Jonathan whispers, his fight leaving him, overridden by exhaustion and despair. 

“I want _you_.”

And with that Dracula climbs gracefully onto the bed, bracketing Jonathan’s scrawny frame with his thick legs. His cape covers them both, brushing the sides of the bed, almost meeting the stone floor. He bends down to whisper in Jonathan’s ear, as he feels the man freeze below him. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve tried to make someone like you? How many experiments I’ve watched fail? And now you’re here, and you’re mine.”

He seizes Jonathan’s wrists in his hands, and spreads his arms wide, above his head. Jonathan is wide-eyed, even if he were strong enough to push Dracula off, he’s too shocked to even try. 

The Count admires him, the look in his eyes can only be described as ravenous. 

“Beautiful. No,” his eyes linger on his translucent skin, his thinning hair, his hollowed out cheeks, “no, no, you’ve transcended beauty.”

He begins to lick Jonathan’s cheek, his tongue is hot, and Jonathan can feel the scream trapped beneath his clicked-shut teeth. Dracula must sense it, and pulls back to catch his eyes again. 

“Johnny. Tell me to stop. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.” 

The whisper is almost sing-song in it’s sweetness. Cloying and seductive. Jonathan’s scream dies and he takes a shallow breath, eyes flicking to the canopy of the bed. Hatred still thrums in his veins, along with something else. He’s aware he’s half-hard, and it won’t be long before Dracula notices too. 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

Jonathan swallows, and almost spits the words at the creature above him. 

“Don’t stop.”

He barely has time to register the joy in Dracula’s eyes before their mouths are pressed together. Dracula kisses messily, all tongue and sharp teeth, and Jonathan is overwhelmed. He feels consumed in more ways than one, used to a delicate press of lips, not this hot wet onslaught. 

He’s painfully hard now, and gasping. Unconsciously, his hips buck, and he rubs himself against the other man. Dracula smiles against his mouth and breaks the kiss to murmur two words.

“Good boy.”

Dracula grinds down against him in turn, causing him to cry out. Quickly and viciously, the vampire pulls down his trousers, exposing his throbbing cock. Dracula stares at Jonathan for a second, then slowly licks down his own palm, before taking Jonathan’s cock in hand.

Dracula goes back to kissing his mouth, his neck, his chest, as he pumps his hand. Jonathan, mewls in desperation, writhing in the sheets. He’s so close to the edge when Dracula sits up, reaching for something on the bedside table. Jonathan barely has time to register the glass of red liquid before it’s being poured into his open mouth. It’s sweet, and sticky, and utterly intoxicating. He should be gagging, but he swallows frantically, even as some of it slips from his mouth and down his chin. 

He manages to free a hand to scoop up some of the excess, and he’s about to put it in his own mouth, when he catches sight of Dracula gazing at him as though he’s the most exquisite masterpiece ever painted. 

Gently, he pushes his blood coated fingers into Dracula’s own mouth. Dracula moans and sucks them, rocking again and sending another jolt of white hot pleasure through the man beneath him. 

Taking him in hand, Dracula speeds up his rhythm, still suckling on Jonathan’s digits. 

When Jonathan finally comes he does so with a choked off cry, as he collapses, shaking on the bed, fingers coming free with a faint pop. 

Shuddering, Jonathan’s distantly aware of two things. Dracula’s hand softly carding through his hair, and the singular tear running down his own face, cold against his cheek. 

_Taking your toys apart to see how they work, indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you for reading. Kudos and comments always appreciated! x
> 
> Tile is from Hermit the Frog by Marina.


End file.
